


Curses & Courtesies

by GinevraEowynUndomiel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Drama & Romance, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 14:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18152765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GinevraEowynUndomiel/pseuds/GinevraEowynUndomiel
Summary: The Season has arrived, and the nobility of Westeros are descending upon King's Landing. Sansa Stark is newly out in society and unused to the intrigues of court. How will she manage a betrothal to Prince Joffrey, the friendship of Margaery Tyrell, and the attentions of Petyr Baelish and the fearsome Hound?  Regency AU, Jane Austen inspired, likely to be shamelessly fluffy and full of SanSan eventually.





	Curses & Courtesies

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, a new fic before I've finished the other one. I swore I wouldn't do this to myself, but I have this idea that won't go away. I'm not entire sure where this story will go. I won't promise to follow too much of show or book canon because that just isn't the style of the great Jane Austen. Expect few, if any deaths, and little political intrigue. Let me know what you think! I'm open to suggestions.

** Chapter 1 **

 

**Sansa**

 

“Ouch, Sansa, you’re hurting!” Arya cried as Sansa pulled tightly on her sister’s stays.

 

Sansa shook her head and continued pulling.  “Perhaps if you did not eat so much, I would not have to pull so much,” Sansa japed, “You want your future husband to see you for your beauty and grace.”

 

“I am sure your future husband would love to hear all about lemon cakes, dear sister,” Arya teased.

 

“You wouldn’t dare!” Sansa cried, finishing tying the laces.

 

“Wouldn’t I?” Arya winked, “You waste so much time worrying about what men see when they look at you, Sansa.  Enjoy lemon cakes while you can before you are wedded, bedded, and sired.”

 

“Do not forget, dear sister,” Sansa said as she helped Arya step into her gown, “once I am ‘wedded, bedded, and sired’ as you say, it will be your turn.”

 

“I wish good fortune to any man who tries,” Arya said with finality.

 

The Season had once again brought the gentlefolk of Westeros to King’s Landing.  The insistence of their lady mother had convinced Eddard Stark, Duke of Northesay to bring Sansa and Arya along when he made the trip South to attend Parliament.  It was past time they be presented to King Robert, or so their mother said. 

 

And today was the day.  The young ladies of Westoros had been called to the Red Keep to present themselves to the king and queen followed by a grand ball in honor of Prince Joffrey’s name day.  Though Sansa knew her father dreaded the pomp and ceremony of the South, it pleased her to no end to finally meet the royal family.  King Robert was an old friend of her father’s, therefore he would surely pay special attention to her and Arya.  Perhaps the prince would even dance with her!  He was said to be quite handsome with the fair Lannister look from his mother, Queen Cersei. 

 

“Come on!” Arya called, pulling Sansa out of her reverie.

 

The sisters descended the steps of the Stark townhouse arm in arm.  Their father awaited them in the entryway. 

 

“Oh, Lady Sansa, you are the picture of your mother, is she not, Lord Stark?” Septa Mordane gushed.

 

Sansa reddened at the compliment.  “Thank you, Septa.  Arya looks well, does she not, Father?” Sansa said, squeezing her sister’s arm.  While Sansa favored their mother, Lady Catelyn born of House Tully with their auburn hair and bright blue eyes, Arya favored their father and House Stark with dark hair, grey eyes, and a dour expression. 

 

“You both look lovely,” their father smiled.  “I shall be fending off princes and lords all evening.”

 

“Do you not wish to seek husbands for your daughters, my lord?” Septa Mordane asked, not hiding her shock.

 

“I hardly think these Southern greenboys worth my time, but I shall humor my lady wife all the same,” he smirked at Arya. 

 

Sansa could hardly believe her father’s words as she was ushered outside and into the waiting carriage.  She barely heard Arya’s complaints that she was just sixteen and hardly ready to settle down into married life as the carriage was swallowed by the hustle and bustle of Baelor Park.  The Red Keep loomed above them and slowly grew in size as they got closer. 

 

After what seemed like ages, they finally rode through the gates guarded by soldiers wearing the yellow wool coats of the royal House Baratheon.  Sansa couldn’t help staring around her as the footman opened the carriage door, and her father stepped out.  They were greeted by a small man with tousled blonde hair.

 

“Lord Stark, a pleasure as always!” the man said as they approached.  “These fine ladies must be your daughters.  Lord Tyrion of House Lannister,” he said as he took Sansa’s hand and kissed it.

 

“My elder daughter, Lady Sansa,” her father said, “and my younger daughter, Lady Arya.”

 

Sansa gave her prettiest curtsy as she was introduced.  Arya awkwardly followed her example.

 

“A pleasure, ladies.  Come, Westeros is waiting to meet you,” Lord Tyrion beckoned them into the Red Keep.

 

* * *

 

**Sandor**

“Lord Stannis, Duke of Dragonstone, presenting his daughter, Lady Shireen of House Baratheon,” Maester Pycelle wheezed for about the thousandth time that afternoon.

 

“Good gods, her scars rival yours, Hound,” Meryn Trant sneered.

 

“Careful,” Sandor growled, “That’s the king’s niece.”

 

“Then why is Stannis showing her ugly face?  Not like Joff is going to marry her,” Trant scoffed.

 

“Fuck if I know,” Sandor growled.  “Ladies get introduced to the king.  It’s a tradition or something.”  Seeing all of the young ladies with their lord fathers made him long for his sister, Elinor.  She should have had a day like today.  Instead she had been taken from him far too young.  The memory made his blood curdle. 

 

They were standing in a gallery above the throne room watching the annual procession of eligible daughters of lords and gentlemen coming before the Iron Throne.  It was something of a tradition in and of itself for off-duty kingsguard and royal household guards to watch the proceedings with the other courtiers.  Often there were running bets on who the crown prince would woo that particular year.

 

“Lord Eddard, Duke of Northesay, presenting his daughters, Lady Sansa and Lady Arya of House Stark,” Pycelle wheezed.

 

“Oh-ho, check out that red haired beauty!” Trant hissed.  “Think she’ll let me sneak a kiss?”

 

Sandor barely heard him.  He watched as the red-haired girl approached the Iron Throne and curtsied before the king, queen, and crowned prince.

 

“NED!” shouted the king below them.  He rose and embraced the other man, a courtesy he hadn’t shown his brother a moment before.  “Where have you been hiding these beauties?  You should have brought them to court ages ago!”

 

“Sansa perhaps,” Lord Stark said, putting a hand on the red headed girl’s back and nudging her forward a step, “But Arya just passed her sixteenth name day.  Cat insisted they come this year.”

 

“Well thank the Gods for Catelyn Stark!” the king boomed.  “Joff will take the first dance with Sansa.  We’ll have them betrothed by the end of the night and our houses joined by the end of the session!”

 

“Your grace, there are plenty of eligible ladies who will want your son’s attention,” the queen said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

 

“Mother, there will be plenty of dances for all of the ladies,” Joffrey said, approaching the Starks.  “I would be happy to dance with Lady Sansa if she agrees.”  He smirked that weasley little face of his. 

 

“I would be honored, my lord,” the girl said prettily.

 

“There’s a good lad,” the king said, clapping his son on the shoulder.  “Claim your doe before someone else does!”

 

Lord Stark coughed.  “Your grace, we’d best keep the line moving.”

 

“Yes, yes, join me for a drink later!” the king laughed, “I want to hear all about the goings on in the North.”

 

The Stark girls curtsied again and were led away by their father.  The smaller dark haired one was scowling.  The other, Lady Sansa, was gazing in wonder around the throne room.  She chanced a glance along the gallery.  Her eyes grew wide as they met Sandor’s.  He scowled back at her.  Of course a pretty girl like that would be terrified by his monstrous appearance.  Lord Stark followed his daughter’s gaze and frowned.

 

“Good Gods, Hound, you’re scaring them already!” Trant laughed next to him as the Stark girls were whisked away by their lord father. 

 

“Sure it was me and not your reputation?” the Hound growled.  Meryn fucking Trant had raped or fucked his was through all of the servant girls in the Red Keep if not half the maidens in King’s Landing. 

 

He stomped off to his quarters before Trant could offer up a reply.  He was on duty for Joff that night and needed to be ready to protect the young prince’s reputation before he sullied it himself. 

 

* * *

 

**Sansa**

 

_Those scars!_ Sansa thought as she had met the eyes of the fearsome man staring at her from the gallery above.  Even from a distance she had seen how gruesome they were.  The incident that earned him those scars must have been a painful one.  She shuddered at the thought. 

 

“Father,” she chanced as they found a place to watch the other ladies coming through away from the prying eyes of the men above.  “Who were those men in the gallery?  Do you know them?”

 

“Aye,” her father said stiffly, “Lieutenant Colonel Trant of the Kingsguard and Major Clegane of the Queen’s household guard.”

 

“Did you see the scars?” Arya hissed.  “Quite fearsome to behold!”

 

“Arya!” Sansa chided.  How could her sister be so rude?

 

“Your sister is right, Arya,” their father frowned at his younger daughter.  “Clegane has killed men for mocking his scars.  A childhood injury, though no one is sure exactly how.”

 

“How horrible,” Sansa breathed, chancing a glance over her shoulder up to the gallery.  Clegane was gone but Trant remained.  He winked at her.  She whipped her head back around.  _The nerve of him!_ she thought. 

 

“Horrible indeed,” a familiar voice oozed in her ear. 

 

“Lord Baelish,” her father said stiffly, extending his hand to shake the other man’s. 

 

“Lord Stark,” Petyr Baelish said smoothly, “I had no idea your daughters would be accompanying you this season.”  He took Sansa’s hand and kissed it before doing the same to Arya.  Sansa casually whipped the back of her hand on her skirts. 

 

“Catelyn insisted,” their father replied stiffly. 

 

“Of course,” Baelish said, raking his eyes over Sansa.  “It is past time for Westeros to see such beauty.”  He smirked, and Sansa felt Arya stiffen next to her.  “I heard the Prince claim your first dance of the night, Lady Sansa, but I hope you will save the second for me?  Your mother is such a dear friend to me after all.”

 

“Of course, my Lord,” Sansa smiled prettily even if she felt sick inside.  “It would be an honor to dance with you.” 

 

“The honor is all mine,” he said, smirking, as he kissed her hand again and disappeared into the crowd. 

 

“Father, I need some air,” Sansa said, frozen to the spot.  “Arya, will you accompany me?”

 

“Of course, Sansa,” their father gave a small smile.  “I have some business to attend to before the feast.  Stay with your sister, and I will be back soon.”  He kissed their brows and left them alone. 

 

“I need to find the privy,” Sansa said. 

 

“Agreed,” Arya said, taking her arm. 

 

They had made it out of the throne room and were searching for the privies when a young woman with thickly curled brown hair wearing a quite revealing gown stepped into their path. 

 

“Lady Sansa,” she breathed, dipping into a curtsy.  “And Lady Arya, I presume.”

 

“Indeed,” Arya replied.  “And you are?” 

 

“Margaery Tyrell,” the woman smiled, taking Sansa’s other arm as they walked again.  “You did well for your royal introduction.  I nearly fainted when I came two years ago.” 

 

“Really?” Sansa breathed.  “But you seem so confident now.” 

 

“Well, I spend more time in town than at home ever since Lord Renly proposed,” Margaery laughed. 

 

“Lord Renly?” Arya asked, “The King’s brother?” 

 

“The very same,” Margaery smiled.  “Grandmother is quite pleased.  He’s just been raised to the House and plans to make a case for being Prime Minister in future.” 

 

“Indeed,” Sansa smiled.  “You must be thrilled.”

 

“I am,” Margaery returned the smile.  “It will be a beautiful wedding at Highgarden.  I hope you ladies will be there!” 

 

“We look forward to it!” Sansa said. 

 

“What do you imagine for your own wedding, Lady Sansa?  I saw the way Prince Joffrey looked at you.  And Lord Baelish.  Even the fearsome Hound couldn’t keep his eyes off you,” Margaery grinned. 

 

“The Hound?” Sansa asked. 

 

“Major Clegane,” Margaery smirked.  “They call him the Hound for the dogs on his sigil.”

 

“Three black dogs on a yellow field,” Arya rattled off.  “How did he get the scars?”

 

“Oh, that’s not for me to tell,” Margaery said, a glint of mischief in her eyes.  “I do know it was a horrible event when he was a boy.  The rumor at court is that it was at the hands of his older brother, the one they call the Mountain.” 

 

A chill ran down Sansa’s spine.  The Mountain was a moniker she knew.  Gregor Clegane had been stuck fear in the heart of the brave men who fought in Robert’s Rebellion before she was born.  It was rumored he’d been the one to kill the Targaryen babes and their mother, Princess Elia.  After the war, he’d returned to his estate in the Westerlands and been married three times, each ending in the mysterious death of the wife. 

 

Seeing her fear, Margaery squeezed her arm.  “Not to worry, The Hound is not so fearsome as his brother.  Just say nothing of his scars or threaten Prince Joffrey.  He’s quite loyal to the prince.” 

 

Loyal to the prince?  Gods, then Sansa was sure to see more of him!  How could she possibly say nothing of his scars?  The very idea filled her with dread.  She was sure to react poorly and ruin her chances with Prince Joffrey.  How awful that would be!  She prayed she would see little of Clegane that evening.  Hopefully he would be otherwise engaged. 

**Author's Note:**

> Well? Is it worth continuing? Any glaring issues? I'm sure the structures of the nobility and government won't be perfect. It's a bit of a challenge to make Westeros fit into the Regency period. The major players are all nobility with no real gentry to make a strong House of Commons. I'm not great with OC's, so I tend to avoid adding them in. Any comments on the characterizations? This is my first AU, so I want to make sure I stay true to the characters as well as the AU. Comments/Reviews welcome!


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